


Veils

by thegirlwiththemouseyhair



Category: Talented Mr Ripley (1999)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13107801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththemouseyhair/pseuds/thegirlwiththemouseyhair
Summary: Un-beta'ed. I wrote this treat at the last minute because your prompt was too good to pass up, even though I've had an extremely hectic few months. I hope you enjoy it despite any lack of polish (entirely my fault), and despite the fact that this story's North American setting deviates a bit from both the canon and your prompt. Happy Yuletide.





	Veils

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bond_Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bond_Girl/gifts).



At first, the snow was simply a patchy white veil over the ground a few hours north of New York. It was picturesque and harmless. Peter even teased Tom about snowball fights on the grounds of the house they had rented, which brought a rare smile to Tom’s face. The snow hardly seemed like the sort of thing that could keep Tom from getting back to New York to attend to whatever business he’d alluded to, and couldn’t possibly last long enough to get in the way of Peter’s rehearsals at Carnegie Hall, which wouldn't start for several weeks.

The house was chilly when they arrived, and lonely, with an empty grate in the living room, and the wind howling outside. Still, Peter tried not to let that spoil his mood.

“To think people complain about the weather in England,” he joked as they set to work building up the fire, their suitcases forgotten by the door. He watched Tom closely for any sign of unease or defensiveness, but Tom appeared all right, if rather shy.

“Well, this place seemed better than the Hamptons,” he replied. “And I figured you wanted somewhere peaceful, too, between working so much and everything that happened in Italy…”

He trailed off. Peter realized he shouldn’t continue in this vein, not even in a teasing manner - shouldn’t appear to press Tom on such a delicate point. After months of running interference for Dickie, and the murder of Freddie Miles, Dickie’s disappearance, and, ultimately, Marge’s accusations that Tom had done something untoward, it was obvious why Tom needed to be somewhere private now. A sudden rush of warmth spread through Peter at the thought of everything Tom had been through. He leaned forward and kissed Tom’s cheek, thinking of how trying the last few months had been for Tom - for all of them, really, but especially for Tom, who had been so close to Dickie, and may have been a little in love with him, Peter suspected. No wonder Tom was glad to be away from the American expatriate community in Italy, and no wonder he’d wanted to avoid New York for as long as possible, rather than run into mutual friends of his and Dickie’s from Princeton. Peter couldn’t begrudge Tom anything, even if the lingering winter may yet prove inconvenient.

“Of course,” Peter said quietly. He put an arm around Tom’s waist. Tom had never said as much in words, but Peter also had the feeling that Tom was used to being treated like a monster for loving men. Peter knew what that was like. That sort of history must have made the accusations of the Italian police, and even of poor Marge, that much harder to bear.

“Anyway, it seems a shame to go up to the bedroom and have to light another fire,” Peter added, to change the subject more than anything. Once again, he thought he saw the faint smile tugging at Tom’s mouth.

“We could stay here for tonight,” Tom suggested. “Just the one night, since it was late when we arrived. If you’re all right sleeping on the sofa, I can bring some blankets down. I’m -” He jerked away from Peter and stood up, his mouth twisting into a sheepish sort of pout. “I’m sure the winter can’t last for much longer.”

“I know that,” Peter agreed, as he, too, stood up. “Here, I’ll help you set up our camp.”

*

Peter woke the next morning with a crick in his neck, and Tom’s head nestled against his shoulder, and peered out the window to see that the snow had continued falling outside the cottage. It was blanketing now. Peter blinked. He could scarcely see the car or the outbuilding across the lawn: they were utterly lost beneath the snow. Worse, the trees flanking the white slope where the drive should have been were coated with a layer of ice, their branches stooped with the weight of it. It was a good thing he and Tom arrived last night; no cars could get through now, until - well, whatever people did around here to clear these little country roads. They would, Peter knew, be absolutely isolated for a few days, at least. The scene would have been almost ominous if it weren’t so beautiful, with the ice shining in the morning light, and the stillness undisturbed by so much as one footprint. It _was_ charming, in its way. Peter couldn’t deny that, despite knowing that he wouldn’t be getting down to the village today to post his letter to Marge, anymore than the woman they had hired to do housework would be coming up from town. But it was hard to resent the unseasonable winter landscape they had found themselves in, at least not completely. There was too much beauty in it for that.

He disengaged from Tom without waking him, stretched gingerly, then stood up to stoke the fire again. His letter could wait. For now, he was content simply to spend the time alone with Tom - alone in the world together, for all practical purposes - and to try to show him what it was like to be loved, without any need for secrets or melancholy. Tom had been absolutely right. It would be just as well for both of them to try to put the past behind them in their cold New England hideout.

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'ed. I wrote this treat at the last minute because your prompt was too good to pass up, even though I've had an extremely hectic few months. I hope you enjoy it despite any lack of polish (entirely my fault), and despite the fact that this story's North American setting deviates a bit from both the canon and your prompt. Happy Yuletide.


End file.
